


A Very Palpable Hit

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: My Family (And Other Dinosaurs) [16]
Category: Primeval
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-31
Updated: 2009-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liz has an accident with some scenery, and earns herself a concussion, a couple of kisses and a lot of irritating Shakespeare references.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Palpable Hit

            “Left a bit- right a bit- Up- no, down a bit- that’s it- nearly- try not to kill any innocent bystanders, Edward!” the Drama teacher called, strolling among the volunteers shifting scenery for the play. “Where’s Liz and the bushes?”

 

            “Here,” Liz answered, dodging the heavy curtain and trundling carefully out of the wings onto the stage with her eyes on her feet, gingerly handling the first of several very large cardboard cutouts that, thanks to hours of work by the Art Department, closely resembled a bush if you were standing far away enough. This was a mistake; the stage was a maelstrom of large and heavy items of scenery, all dancing intricately about as the teenagers shifting them cursed each other mildly and manoeuvred the objects in question into their proper place, not to mention the green tissue-paper creepers being attached carefully to the wall by an assortment of volunteers on ladders. What with all this activity, nobody had much time to notice an imminent collision, and so the few shrieks of ‘watch out!’ were too late- Liz looked up just in time to be swiped across the head with a length of plywood purporting to be a log, making her yelp, fall backwards in surprise and drop the bush.

 

            “Liz? Liz, are you all right?” The two sixth-formers who’d been carrying the log between them, hoisted on their shoulders, turned hastily and nearly brained the Drama teacher hurrying to see what had happened.

 

            “Oh. Ouch,” Liz said stupidly, putting one hand to her forehead and trying to get up. She managed to get onto her feet, but she was very pale and swaying alarmingly; still, she managed to collect a reasonable glare to turn on the crowd of people forming around her. “What are you lot staring at?”

 

            “Sit down,” the teacher said firmly. “Are you all right?”

 

            Liz sat obediently and fixed him with another patent glower, which said rather clearer than words ‘Do I _look_ all right?”

 

            The teacher, Mr. Harrison, grinned, shoving floppy salt-and-pepper (“ _Distinguished_ ,” he insisted to the staff room) hair out of his face. “Perhaps not.” He looked at her for a moment more, muttering under his breath “Poor balance- Liz, have you got a headache? Yes, I should think so- Nausea, if I’m any judge- Remarkable shade of green your face has turned, Liz. Sort of pasty... Dizziness? I suspect so... I think you should go to the school nurse.”

 

            “It’s probably fine,” Liz said, gingerly touching her head.

 

            “Probably is not certainly. Right, now, how are we going to do this?”

 

            “I could stand up,” Liz suggested, attempting to lever herself off the floor again, one hand on the slightly dusty wood of the floor, the other still hovering about an already-forming bruise.

 

            “I really think not,” Mr. Harrison said thoughtfully, pushing her down again as he stood up and looked around for someone useful. “Not yet, at least. Edward, Max, do something meaningful with that log and don’t hit anybody else with it. Everybody, look out for Edward and Max and the log... oh, _I_ know. Has anyone seen Juliet Sayers? Miss Singh, aren’t you supposed to be bringing creepers down from the Art Department?”

 

            Miss Singh, better known as Amandeep, hesitantly volunteered the opinion that Juliet Sayers had last been seen helping to fine-tune the lighting, and should she go and get her?

 

            “If you please,” Mr. Harrison said politely, and folded himself tidily down to sit by Liz, keeping one eye on the scenery slowly developing. “Liz, I think you might be concussed.”

 

            “Hallelujah,” Liz muttered, exploring the bruise with her fingertips.

 

            “Do be serious. That will probably require a hospital trip. We’d better inform your parents.”

 

            “Parent,” Liz corrected. “Stick to my father, it’s not serious enough to ring my mother up. She’ll just pester me.”

 

            “I assume by pester you mean soothe your fevered brow,” Mr. Harrison rebuked, eyeing a picturesque Greek pedestal  as it was hauled across the floor, lifted, passed over several heads and received without incident on the stage.

 

            “Well, she might, but I hate being coddled,” Liz said, and was about to say something more when a blonde teenager burst into the hall and exclaimed in a carrying voice:

 

            “Elizabeth Alison Lester, what have you done to yourself?”  


            “Ow,” the aforementioned Elizabeth Alison Lester mumbled, clutching her head. “I’ve concussed myself. You could be more sympathetic.”

 

            “You wuss,” Juliet said unkindly, stalking across the hall, scattering scenery-shifters from her path, and hopping onto the stage to view the damage. “Bloody hell. How did you do that?”

 

            “I had an unfortunate encounter with a log,” Liz said irritably.

 

            “I’m sure it hurts a lot,” her girlfriend said soothingly, kneeling by her and gently taking hold of her chin, turning Liz’s head this way and that to get a better impression of the bruise. “Yes, actually, I _am_ sure it hurts a lot. Very clever, sweetie, that’s going to ache for a while.”

 

            “I know,” Liz muttered grumpily, but accepted a gentle hug and a brief kiss on the cheek.

 

            Mr. Harrison coughed, breaking up the touching scene. “Now you’re here, Juliet, could we possibly shift our erstwhile Romeo from the stage?”

 

            Both Liz and Juliet stared at him.

 

            “Oh, come on!” he said impatiently. “Romeo- Juliet- I was told you were intelligent!”

 

            “Romeo,” Liz pointed out in a tone of mild horror, “was a _guy_. And I am _not_.”

 

            The Drama teacher sighed and shook his head despairingly. “Never mind. Now, Juliet, if I take one arm and you take the other...”

 

            Together, they managed to get Liz on her feet, still looking pale and dizzy, and shepherded her to the nurse, Mrs. Logan, who greeted Liz with brisk sympathy and Juliet with a kind enquiry about the muscle she’d pulled three weeks previously.

 

            “Now, Liz,” she said, seating herself at her desk, across from the girl. Juliet had dragged up a chair to sit beside her, and Mr. Harrison stood slightly further away, listening. “How do you feel?”

 

            “My head hurts,” Liz said. “And I feel a bit sick and I can’t stand or walk properly.”

 

            “Good. Tell me what happened, please.” Mr. Harrison opened his mouth to speak, but she shot him a quelling glance.

 

            “I was on the stage with- you know, scenery for the play... _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_... and I wasn’t looking where I was going and I walked into a log. A scenery log,” she added hastily. “Plywood.”

 

            “Weren’t looking where you were going?” Mrs. Logan repeated disapprovingly, jotting this down.

 

            “No. I was trying not to trip.” Liz raised a hand absently to her head- it was throbbing badly.

 

            “Alas, what fools these mortals be,” Juliet quoted, straight-faced, and Liz kicked her in the shins, making her jump and pull a face at Liz, until she noticed Liz’s hand hovering about her head and frowned anxiously. “Are you all right?”  


            “My head hurts,” Liz repeated, sounding unusually querulous, and Juliet took her other hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

 

            “Mrs. Logan’ll get you some painkillers,” she said confidently, keeping hold of the hand.

 

            “I expect they’ll do that at the hospital,” Mrs. Logan said, leaning forward to examine Liz’s pupils and ensure they were both the same size. “Which is where I’m going to have to send you, Liz, I’m afraid.”

 

            “What!” Liz yelped, and Mrs. Logan retreated hastily, with a censorious frown for the noise.

 

            “Yes. Just to make sure. Juliet can stay with you, of course-“

 

            “Obviously,” Juliet interrupted, flipping her long plait over one shoulder, lifting her chin and generally announcing by her demeanour that anyone wishing to separate her from her girlfriend would have a fight on their hands. The nurse gave her a tolerant look.

 

            “-and I’ll write notes for your teachers and ring your father, Liz. You do live with your father, don’t you? Yes, I thought so. Juliet, go and collect yours and Liz’s things; Mr. Harrison, if you’d pass me one of those blue packs over there.” Mr. Harrison turned, picked up the blue pack in question –oval, made of a kind of plastic, blue with white writing on it and full of something gel-like –and handed it over to the nurse, who felt it for a moment, and then cracked a small disc inside it. She passed the pack to Liz. “You’re familiar with these, I know.”

 

            “Yup. They get all cold and good for putting on bruises. Thank you, Mrs. Logan.” Liz took the pack gratefully, holding it and waiting for it to get cold.

 

            Mr. Harrison coughed and shifted, feet squeaking on the utilitarian wipe-clean floor. “I need to get back and make sure no-one else does themselves an injury.”  


            “Quite,” Mrs. Logan said, writing the notes to go in the register for Liz and Juliet’s class, informing the teachers that Liz Lester had gone to hospital and Juliet had accompanied her. “I’ll fill out the necessary forms- if you could drop by to sign the accident report...”  


            “Absolutely,” Mr. Harrison agreed. “I hope you feel better soon, Liz.” He grinned suddenly. “That was a hit- a very palpable hit.”

 

            Liz, who had lifted the pack to her head, holding it awkwardly against the bruise, groaned. “That had better not have been a Shakespeare quote, Mr. Harrison.”

 

            Mr. Harrison laughed and left.

 

            “Exit, pursued by a bear,” Mrs. Logan observed. “Would you like a glass of water, dear?”

 

***

 

            The Blackberry rang in the middle of Professor Cutter’s attempt to explain the latest catastrophe to the satisfaction of a frosty Lester and a displeased Jenny Lewis, causing Lester to raise a hand to silence him, fish the Blackberry out of one elegantly tailored pocket, and answer it.

 

            “Yes?” he said politely. “Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Logan.” A pause; his eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Liz has concussed herself? At _school_? I _am_ impressed- Yes. Yes. I’m sorry, Mrs. Logan, that was unacceptable levity. How did she sustain such an injury? It’s not serious, I hope?”

 

            Jenny bit her top lip to keep herself from laughing.

 

            “-Oh, I see... Shifting scenery for the school play. Quite. Are you sending her to hospital? Yes. Excellent. Which hospital?... Thank you. Yes, I’ll be there. Thank you for letting me know.” He ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket, standing from behind his immaculate desk and nodding to Jenny and Cutter in turn. “Fascinating as our little conversation was, Professor Cutter, I need to leave now. Liz has concussed herself on a piece of scenery.”

 

            “Is she all right?” Jenny asked immediately.

 

            Lester flicked an eyebrow sceptically at her as he collected various items into a black briefcase and snapped it shut. “At the moment, I should imagine she has a serious headache, but she’ll probably be absolutely fine in the long run.”

 

            “Oh, good. Tell her I hope she feels better soon, will you, James?”

 

            “Of course,” Lester agreed. “Professor Cutter, where _do_ you think you’re going?”

 

            “To give Connor a bit of help with the dinosaur database. He asked if I’d take a look at some of his extrapolation and see if it made sense,” Cutter said, halting in his casually stealthy –well, being Nick, not terribly stealthy, or casual- progress towards the door.

 

            “I think you should finish explaining your latest peccadillo to Jenny here first,” Lester suggested, picking up the briefcase. “I’ll see you tomorrow- unless Liz’s concussion is more severe than I think it is.”

 

            “All right,” Jenny said, and Nick nodded.

 

            He left the office, listening with amusement to the faint sounds of Jenny starting in on a serious interrogation, informed his secretary of what had happened, dropped in on Lorraine Wickes to ensure she knew what was happening –Lorraine and Jenny between them could probably run the ARC more competently than he did, given half a chance- and sauntered down to the soldiers’ rec room to put his boyfriend in possession of the facts, where he found the men in an unusually musical mood. Lieutenant Mather and Corporal Finn were arguing over guitar chords, one of Becker’s men – the Sergeant Fraser who kept hitting his head on doorways, Lester identified after a moment – was demonstrating some kind of round drum, and Lyle himself occupied in critically dissecting some song or other with another of the new men, a medic Lester seemed to recall was usually addressed as Trouble.

 

            He coughed tactfully, and then when that didn’t work, said peremptorily: “Jon!”

 

            Musical activity ground to a halt, and Lyle looked up. “Yes?”

 

            “Liz has concussed herself.”

 

            “How?” Ditzy demanded, elbowing his way through the crowd.

 

            “Moving stage scenery, I understand,” Lester said with a roll of his eyes. “An unexpected encounter with a log being carried across the stage at head-height.”

 

            Private Lacey, perched with Lieutenant Tremayne in a corner of the very crowded room, snorted with laughter, and Ditzy and Lyle grinned. Lester allowed himself a smile. “She didn’t pass out, so I think it’s probably not that serious- and anyway, the child bounces, she might as well be made of rubber- I very much doubt a piece of scenery has done her any real damage. I’m going to the hospital now to see her.”

 

            “I’ll come with you,” Lyle said easily, rising, threatening to tread on Trouble’s ankle, standing on Blade’s foot and extracting a pained swearword, kicking at Ditzy’s shin to make him move out of the way and finally extricating himself from the crowded rec-room. Lester cast a quick glance over it, wondering why it was so full; he saw that only Captain Jacobs and his team were missing, probably because the research team they were assigned to were hunting down a suspected megatherium in Northumbria. “Did you speak to her?”

 

            “No, but I heard her in the background when I spoke to the school nurse, talking to Juliet.”

 

            “She’s probably fine, then.” Lyle stopped off at his locker briefly, picking up a couple of things. “I’ll come with you anyway- we’re not short of lads and it’s Becker’s turn to chase dinosaurs anyway.”

 

            “Mm. Is the rec room usually that crowded?” They took a sharp left past the armoury, headed for the car park.

 

            Lyle shrugged. “No.”

 

            “Or musical?”

 

            The soldier snorted. “Not by a long shot. Finn started it, and then Kalti joined in, and one of the new lads, Sergeant Fraser- he has some kind of a drum, a bodhrán I think he called it, and he started in too- he’s bloody good. And it sort of went from there.”

 

            “Very... stream of consciousness,” Lester commented as he punched in the code for the door to the car park and went out, making for the sleek black car in a reserved parking space.

 

            “Mm. Can I drive the Merc?”

 

            “Not a bloody chance,” Lester said, sliding neatly into the driver’s seat.

 

***

 

            “I still think the ambulance ride was overkill,” Liz said grumpily, lying sprawled across four seats in a waiting room with her head cradled on Juliet’s lap.

 

            “Ssh,” Juliet said soothingly, lifting the blue ice pack and brushing Liz’s hair off her forehead. “Is this still working?”

 

            “Not really,” Liz muttered, and reached up to take the hand on her forehead, holding it firmly away from the bruise.

 

            “I’ll keep it and give it back to Mrs. Logan. The things are reusable, you know.”

 

            “Wonders of modern technology,” Liz said, closing her eyes. “I don’t suppose you could kiss this better?”

 

            “You’re bloody demanding,” Juliet informed her, and hauled Liz up so that the younger girl was lying half-across her, head cradled comfortably against Juliet’s shoulder. “Ask nicely.”

 

            “All right, _please_ kiss it better.”  

 

            “Mm... I’ll think about it,” Juliet said vaguely, staring aimlessly into the middle distance and remembering how they’d got there; first the trip by ambulance, the paramedics all highly amused by Liz’s concussion, dramatic forehead bruise and grumpiness at ending up in an ambulance, then a crowded Accident and Emergency department, then the cheerily irritating doctor who’d checked Liz’s pupils to see if they were the same size, asked inane questions about date of birth, full name, and so on and told her to take paracetamol for the headache and two days off school, adding a long list of things she ought to keep an eye out for, and now the waiting in a surprisingly quiet waiting room for Lester and Lyle to pick them up.

 

Liz made a noise indicating discontent, hoisted her feet onto the row of seats as well, and rested her head against Juliet, one hand toying idly with the thin strap of the other teenager’s top.

 

            “Will you stop doing that?” Juliet demanded, shivering as Liz’s fingers migrated onto her collarbone, light and almost absent-minded.

 

            “This?... What for? Perfectly innocent,” Liz said in an entirely guileless tone which might have fooled her five-year-old next door neighbour.

 

            “We’re in a hospital waiting-room, you idiot!”

 

            “I know that,” Liz said reasonably. Her fingers had trailed gently up Juliet’s neck and were tracing her jawline.

 

            “I’m going straight to tell the doctor. The concussion has made you an exhibitionist.”

 

            Liz chuckled softly. “If you will hold me like this...”

 

            Juliet shivered again as Liz’s thumbnail slowly drew a delicate line across her cheekbone and back. “I’m doing that because you’re hurt, and you’re just taking advantage... Stop it, Liz, I’m not kidding-“

 

            “Oh?” Liz took her hand away, folding her hands virtuously on her lap and grinning up at Juliet. “I thought you liked that?”

 

            “I do,” Juliet said with some feeling.  “I- just- not in a hospital waiting-room, okay?”

 

            Liz just grinned at her.

 

            “Oh, blast it!” Juliet snapped and bent her head to kiss Liz very thoroughly- which, going on the happy little noise the teenager made and the hand sliding into Juliet’s hair to pull her down for a second kiss, was exactly what Liz had been after in the first place. 

 

            “ _Much_ better,” Liz murmured smugly, and then said in a completely different tone, staring seriously up into Juliet’s eyes: “You know you’re stunning, right?”

 

            “You keep telling me so, sweetheart.” Juliet took one of Liz’s hands, stroking the palm absently.

 

            It was at that point that Lester and Lyle, still arguing over whether they were in the right place or not, turned up.

 

            “You’re late,” Liz said reprovingly, turning her head towards them.

 

            “And you’re obviously fine,” Lester said dryly. “There was a snarl-up on Westminster Bridge, and then we couldn’t find a parking-space. Walking would have been quicker. Juliet, is she all right?”

 

            “I’m fine,” his daughter insisted, swinging her legs off the waiting room chairs and standing up, whereupon she realised she was a little wobblier on her feet than she’d thought. “Ooer.”

 

            “You are blatantly not,” Juliet said, leaping up and steadying her.

 

            “I am too.”

 

            “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Lester said, and promptly almost walked into the backswing of the heavy door into the waiting room- Lyle caught it before it hit him in the face, and grinned at him.

 

            “Mind how you go.”

 

            “Clever, Dad,” Liz chimed in, and then slid and almost fell on a patch of just-cleaned hospital floor. Juliet laughed, and kissed her on the forehead, provoking a squeak as she hit the bruise dead centre.

 

            “These Lesters,” she said, grinning at Lyle. “They can’t look after themselves.”


End file.
